Category Archives: Romance

Short, Short Story: Love on a Country Road

Sweet readers, Thank you for being loyal followers of my website and encouragers of my writing career. The first week of the month I usually post a Flash Fiction story, but his month, the story is slightly over 1000 words, so in the interest of honesty, and y’all know if nothing, I’m honest, it is a Short, Short Story. Last year after picking up Libby, my daughter, from a field trip at 3:30 in the morning, we heard a favorite country song on the radio. I said that I wanted to turn it into a Flash Fiction story, and she suggested that I write it from the woman’s point of view. The song is in the man’s point of view. So after months of thinking about it, I finally did it. I hope you like it. Leave a comment on the website, Instagram, or Facebook if you know the song that inspired this story.  Actually, there’s two, but one is minor. Big points if you figure out that one. And always, Sharing is Caring. Love y’all.

******************************************************************************************

Ella waved her alleged smartphone above her head through the sunroof of her Honda Civic, lifting her foot off the gas. Fields of green leafy plants waved back at her. They almost seemed to snicker at her—Atlanta girl lost in the country. When the bossy woman directed her off the interstate, it seemed like she was trying to help. The faster Ella could get to the beach on St. Simons Island, the better. But as she turned from one two-lane road to another, the signal lost strength.

The car rolled to a stop at the intersection in the middle of Nowhere, Georgia. She pulled the phone back in the car, but there was still no GPS signal. She collapsed over the steering wheel, blasting the horn.

“Whoa.” A deep voice slipped through the open roof.

Fantastic, now she was hearing voices. Ella lifted her head, out of the corner of her eye, something moved. A man reclined against the side of a flatbed truck full of vegetables. How had she missed him? His jeans hugged his legs, while the muscles of his upper body pushed against his green John Deere t-shirt. Mercy me, they sure do know how to grow them out here.

Pushing off the truck, he ambled over to her window with the most adorable lopsided grin. Her stomach fluttered as he got closer. She gazed at him, her breath becoming heavy. His blue eyes were like the sky on a clear spring day, and his tan skin was kissed by the sun.

A sharp tap to the window shocked her back to the present.

He wrinkled his brow, peering in at her.

Heat scrambled up her neck, burning her cheeks. She was such a fool, ogling at a perfect stranger, but he was like a fine piece of sculpture.

Dropping her fingers on the window button, she tried for a nonchalant smile as the glass separating them lowered.

“Good afternoon, ma’am.”

“Hiee.” Her fingers fluttered beside her face. She cut them a look. What was wrong with her?

“Don’t think you’re looking to buy any collards, so I’m guessing you’re lost.”

She nodded.

“GPS send you off the highway.”

“How’d you know?”

“Happens at least twice a week.” He spun his ball cap around backward, bent over, resting his folded arms in the open window. “Where you headed?”

“St. Simons Island. Girls weekend at the beach. Can’t wait to lounge all day beside the ocean. And I love to get lunch at Boulevard Café and blackened grouper from Crab Daddy’s.”

“You got it all planned.” He grinned.

“Yep.”  Maybe if she kept to one-word answers, she wouldn’t babble on like a dreamy-eyed teenager. She twisted the knob for the air conditioner, dousing them in cold air.

He blinked as the gust from the vent, slapped into his impossibly long dark lashes. For Heaven’s sake, she was doing it again. She grasped the knob, twisting it. “S-sorry.”

“No problem, feels good. After sittin’ out here all mornin’ with nothin’ but a prayer for a breeze.” He met her gaze, letting it linger.

Click here to read the rest of the story.

 

Flash Fiction – Avoiding the Bouquet

Lately, it seems I’ve been writing a lot about weddings.  So much can happen when we throw together family and friends. People come with all kinds of expectations and experiences. The book I just finished begins at a wedding, and this short, short story takes place at a wedding reception during the bouquet toss. As a child, I loved trying to catch the bouquet, and as a bride, I couldn’t wait to see who would catch my bouquet. Because I was one of the first of my friends to get married, there was quite a crowd when it came time.  And I can happily report that my friend who caught my bouquet is happily married and so is the guy who caught the garter, although not to each other. (Too bad because that would have made a fun story.) They were so sweet to let me share this picture with you.  Thanks Ronna and Rob.

While my girlhood views were filled with romance, I realize from talking to unmarried friends that this isn’t always the case. This is the perspective I took with this story. I hope you enjoy it.

What is your favorite part of weddings? Do you have any funny stories from weddings? Please share. I’m always looking for inspiration.

******************************************************************************************

The bouquet of white hydrangeas launched from the bride’s hands and soared into the air, ricocheting off the chandelier. As it plummeted toward Anna, she recoiled, shuddering. Two younger women in skimpy dresses dove in front of her with apparent disregard for maintaining any mystery about their lack of undergarments.

Anna pivoted, abandoning the inevitable tug-of-war, grabbed a glass of champagne and tossed back the bubbles. As she threaded the crowd, she spied another flute of cheer on a service table. She snatched it up and shoved the door open, stumbling into the hall. How many glasses had she consumed? Apparently not enough.

A quiet summer night beckoned her from the other side of the French doors. Her heart pounded to the rhythm of the band’s cover of Brick House. Did every wedding band include that song in its set list? She leaned against the door frame, gazing through the window. The soles of her feet ached. Moonbeams danced across the lawn, leading to the brooding ocean. The music grew louder. She glanced over her shoulder.

A couple danced out of the ballroom, gazing into one another’s eyes. At this point in the night, no one would notice if she disappeared for a while.

Anna dropped her hand onto the door handle and slid it open. She slipped through the narrow space, pulling the door closed behind her. She closed her eyes as she rolled her shoulders, releasing the tension. A warm breeze blew against her face, and she inhaled deeply. The salty air brought a peace she could only find by the sea. She lifted the glass to her lips.

“Hi there.” A deep voice said behind her. “Must be my lucky night.”

Anna’s heart skittered as her throat tightened. She coughed, spewing the champagne.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Her throat burned, and she rubbed her neck as she turned to face the man.

He reclined against the stuccoed wall with one foot crossed over the other and a hand in his pants’ pocket. His bow tie hung loosely around his neck. With the trimmed beard that accentuated his strong jawline and a coy smile, he could have been posing for a men’s clothing ad.

Anna swallowed.

He pushed off the wall and extended his hand as he stepped out of the shadows. “I’m Baker.” He couldn’t be more than thirty. Way too young for her, but . . .

Anna felt the corners of her lips lift. Perhaps, Click here to read the rest of the story.

Weight of Waiting by Hope Welborn

My friend Hope Welborn often says, “I’m not interested unless there’s a dead body.”  And that’s okay since she writes Romantic Suspense stories. I am so happy to have Hope guest blogging for me this week. We met at my first writer’s conference when I sat with her at the regional breakfast. She was also from Georgia and so sweet to a newbie like me.  At this national conference, Hope was a big deal because she was a finalist for the unpublished author’s contest. I became an adoring fan right away. Never did I think we would end up being friends and in a critique group together. Last year, when I was a semi-finalist in the same contest, she contacted me with words of congratulations, and then we realized we had a mutual friend, Lindsey Brackett. Soon we were forming our own writers’ group. Hope’s words are inspiring and beautiful, and I know you will be blessed by them.

***********************************************************

I’ve been reading in Genesis during my quiet time before bed. I enjoy reading about the process of creation. It speaks to me as a writer. God had an idea, He followed through on that idea, and something was created.

Now for Him, the process was as simple as speaking the words, “Let there be…” and the Bible says, “And there was…”

For us, the process is not as simple. I often get frustrated with my own plodding progress. I feel pressures to write quickly, to get something to my agent so he can then send it off to publishers in the hopes of getting a contract.

But even if I could write faster, even if I had a finished product in a matter of weeks, all of that “hurry up” would be met with the inevitable … “and wait.”

I have a wonderful tribe of writers around me, all in various stages of their journeys. And all in various stages of waiting.

Some wait to hear back from an agent, an editor, or a publishing house. Some wait for feedback, critiques, or edits. Some wait until their book is printed and lands in their hands, a finished work. Some wait for their next great idea or inspiration to finish another book.

We all wait.

And in the waiting, we wonder.

Am I good enough? Will this book sell? Is this the right path to take? Am I just wasting my time? Why is this all so difficult?

There’s nothing we can do to change any of this. It is simply the process. The publishing “machine” moves very slowly, and we have to learn to wait patiently. We might start out in different places on the conveyer belt of publishing, but we’re all still on the same assembly line.

We are all card-carrying members of Team Wait. There are no shortcuts or by-passes. Each step along the way is a “right of passage” we must all go through. It may seem unreasonable, but there is a purpose behind it all.

I recently read the following quote:

“Often we fail to give God an opportunity to work, not realizing that it takes time for Him to answer prayer. It takes time for God to color a rose or to grow a great oak tree.” (from Streams in the Desert)

My mind lingered on those words.

I thought back to Genesis, when God created the universe. In just six days, He designed and formed everything that makes up our world.

But, He also created the process of growth.

He decided how long it would take for a tiny acorn to grow into an oak tree large enough to provide shade on a warm day. Sure, He could’ve made it so that acorn would form a new, fully grown tree by the next day. But, He didn’t.

In His infinite wisdom, He knew the tree needed time to grow.

Important things happen during the growth period. Roots reach deep into the earth and anchor the tree. The trunk grows, expands, reaching wide and high. It sprouts limbs and branches that give birth to leaves that absorb sunlight and rain to nourish the tree and allow for more growth.

And when the winds come, the tree stays anchored because of its deep roots. The strong trunk holds up, the branches sway and bend with the weather, withstanding the storms.

Because God knows what the tree will have to endure, He designed a growth period which gives the tree time to become what it needs to survive.

I see the same process in our writing journeys. We need time to grow as writers. To learn the craft. To find our voice. To develop our ideas. To understand the industry. To gain an audience.

These are all things we need. Things that will hold us upright when it gets difficult.

When we get our first rejection. And our twentieth. When we get our first contract, and then our first deadline. When we get a five-star review and a one-star review. When we win. When we lose.

Waiting carries weight. It’s a heavy burden to bear sometimes. But important things happen in the waiting. Growth is necessary, and growth takes time.

So, give yourself the time you need to become what God has purposed for you to be. Waiting isn’t easy, but if you use that time wisely, it won’t be time wasted.


Hope Welborn writes spine-tingling suspense, sprinkled with romance, and saturated with faith. She nerds out over superheroes, survives on chai lattes, and spends time at her family’s North Georgia farm. By day, she masquerades as a web marketing projects manager and by night, she stays up too late putting words on the page. You can connect with her at www.hopewelborn.com or on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram.

Croquet Kiss

It’s the first week of the month, and I’m excited to share my first published flash fiction piece. Croquet Kiss was first published in the August edition of Spark magazine. It is set on Jekyll Island during the time when millionaires holidayed on the Island. They often visited during the month of February, fleeing the cold winters of the Northeast. I hope you enjoy.

Croquet Kiss by Leslie DeVooght

Tap.

Clarice’s yellow ball rolled to a stop beside John’s black one. With her precise putt, she’d created an irresistible target.

John pulled back his wooden mallet and swung with gusto. His competitive spirit vanquished his manners.

Thwack.

John’s ball smashed against her ball, sending it sailing over the manicured lawn. It rested in the rough under a sweeping oak. His shot went beyond defense and social graces, but her ball couldn’t have landed in a more perfect location.

Rowdy cheers rose from the gentlemen, entertaining her friends on the veranda of the Jekyll Island Club House.

Jekyll Island Club

Clarice glanced to the spectators.

The ladies paused—their glasses of lemonade suspended. They breathed a collective sigh, while their wide brim hats swayed like sailing yachts on an undulating sea.

With a smug grin, John tipped his hat to his friends. His chest swelled, confident of his skill. Surely this surge of masculinity would encourage him to act on the sparks that flew between them.

Clarice bit down on her lip, a smile pushing at the corners. Before John caught a glimpse of her expression, she tossed her white, lace sunhat and marched across the croquet court. She swung her mallet like a drum major’s baton, feigning irritation.

Last night, she’d tarried with John in the beam of the moon on the stoop of her uncle’s vacation cottage. And when John leaned into her, she tilted her chin, lips puckered—ready. But instead of warm lips on hers, he’d lifted her hand and politely pecked the back of her fingers—merely childhood friends.

Ire rose in her, warming her cheeks—time to take matters into her own hands.

“Tsk, tsk, Clarice.” John fell in line behind her. “What will you do now?”

“Hmmph.” She pulled her shoulders back and dabbed a renegade bead of perspiration daring to escape her hairline.

“Come on, please don’t be mad. I was simply following our President’s advice—‘speak softly and carry a big stick.’”

Undoubtedly, Teddy Roosevelt wouldn’t approve of his words being used to describe a lawn sport. And of course, John focused on the stick and not the speaking softly. Besides why were they discussing politics at all—certainly, a twist she hadn’t anticipated. What else could she do to show her willingness and still be called a lady?

She spun and faced him. “I—”

John nearly collided with her, as he waved to his cohorts. He snatched his hand down, and his fingers tangled with hers, then their eyes entwined.

Maybe he’d stop dawdling and draw her to him. Shivers dashed up her arms.

“Sorry.” He broke the trance, pulling his hand from hers.

Her cheeks burned—maybe not.

Click here to read the rest of the story.

Most Romantic Lines from Literature by Amanda Everett

Y’all are in for a treat this week. My friend Amanda Everett is guest blogging.

Amanda Everette is a southern girl saved by grace. Lover of pretty things, clever words, and her stud of a husband. Not necessarily in that order.

Amanda and I met at the American Christian Writers Conference in August of 2016. We became quick friends and critique partners. I’m delighted by the post. Be sure to read all the way to the end. It brought tears to my eyes. Be sure to check Amanda out on her website at www.amandaeverettwriter.com .

A glance, a touch, that long-awaited kiss beneath a starry sky, the promise of happily ever after—this is what romance is made of. As a writer, and reader, of romance, I can’t seem to get enough of love lately! With Valentine’s Day right around the corner, I’ve rounded up some of the most romantic lines from literature. You know the type, the ones that make your breath catch, heart flutter, and mind hope that maybe, just maybe, you’ll hear similar words of love spoken to you.

Most romantic lines from literature: 

  1. “Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same…If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.”

Technically, I combined two different quotes from Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights, but can you blame me?

  1. “You should be kissed and often, and by someone who knows how.” Rhett Butler, Gone with the Wind

Has there ever been a more roguish, charming scoundrel of a gentleman? *swoon*

  1. “If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day, so I never have to live without you.” Winnie the Pooh

The love of a good friend is not to be taken lightly.

  1. “You have bewitched me body and soul.” Pride and Prejudice.

Mr. Darcy—enough said.

  1. “I love her and it is the beginning of everything.” –F. Scott Fitzgerald

Okay, so this line isn’t from a book, but a personal letter in which F. Scott Fitzgerald was talking about his wife, Zelda.  I think you can see why I had to include it.

  1. “and this is the wonder that is keeping the stars apart
    i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)” E.E. Cummings

To be forever in your beloved’s thoughts— what more could one want? Some people speculate that Cummings left the “I” lower case so as to be on the same level as his beloved.

  1. “When he shall die,
    Take him and cut him out in little stars,
    And he will make the face of heaven so fine
    That all the world will be in love with night
    And pay no worship to the garish sun.”
    —William Shakespeare, Romeo & Juliet
    It’s impossible to talk about romance without including Romeo & Juliet. I had to recite this for a high school English class and it’s one of the few pieces I still remember to this day.
  2. “I don’t want sunbursts or marble halls, I just want you.” L.M. Montgomery, Anne of the Island

To be loved for who you are, isn’t that what we all desire?

  1. “Always.” Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

When you think romance, you generally don’t think of Harry Potter, but this line by Severus Snape in regards to his undying love for Lily Potter slays me every time.

Are you feeling a little weak at the knees yet? I know I am! But here’s the thing, no matter how many romance novels I read or chick-flicks I watch, I find I’m still left wanting more. It took me years to realize there is no one on this earth who can ever fully satisfy my desire for love, not even my husband.

But there is someone who can.

He is a poet who seeks to win your affection with tender words. A King enthralled by your beauty. A mighty warrior ready to calm all your fears and rejoice over you with singing. There is one who has known you at your darkest and loves you still. One who has literally moved heaven and earth to make a way for you to be together forever.  He is the ultimate storyteller, the creator of love, God over all…and He is madly, deeply, completely in love with you

So on this Valentine’s Day, perhaps the most romantic line ever written can be found right here:

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.”-John 3:16

May any semblance of love you read about, any chick-flick you watch, and any relationship you’re a part of always remind you of the greatest love story ever told—that of Christ and his love for you.